Revenant
by Fialleril
Summary: He was eight years old when he met his grandfather for the first time... Anakin & Anakin fic. New Chapter: A Piece of the Sky. Anakin Solo takes his grandfather on the ride of his afterlife... AU if you consider the EU canon.
1. a note on my Expanded Universe

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars. That aside, I suppose it could be said that I _do _own Tamrin Shalaar, Bail and Breha Solo, Padmé Skywalker, and my versions of Anakin Solo and Ben Skywalker.

I don't follow the established EU. It's too convoluted (and much of it is too implausible) for my tastes. Instead, I have my own version of what happened after Endor. In order to really appreciate this story, here are some things you might want to know about the background of my version of the EU:

Following the Battle of Endor, the remnants of the Empire are quickly dealt with and the galaxy is at peace (at least as much as it ever is). The Alliance begins the arduous process of building a government, under the capable leadership of Mon Mothma.

Han and Leia are married a few months after the Battle of Endor, in a ceremony which is a good deal more public than either of them would have preferred.

Shortly after Endor, they also meet Tamrin Shalaar, an Alliance informant working in a diner on Coruscant. She assists them in several missions, and they strike up a friendship.

About two years after her marriage, Leia gives birth to twins, whom she names Bail and Breha, after her adopted parents. Three years later, she and Han have a son, and after a good deal of deliberation, they name him Anakin, as a gesture of reconciliation with Leia's biological father.

Not long after Anakin's birth, Luke and Tamrin are wed, and they succeed in keeping their wedding considerably more subdued than Han and Leia's. Nevertheless, it still makes quite the news item.

Three years after their wedding, Luke and Tamrin's son Ben is born. A little over five years after this, their daughter Padmé is born.

At the time of _Revenant_ it has been twelve years since Endor. Presuming they were 20 in ANH, Luke and Leia are now 34. Tamrin is around 32, and who knows how old Han is. Bail and Breha are 10, and Anakin is 8. Ben has just turned 5, and Tamrin is six months pregnant with Padmé. 


	2. Chapter I: Namesake

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars. Also, keep in mind that this story _is _AU if you consider the EU canon. Please read the note in chapter one. Thanks!

_revenant: 1. a person who returns from a long absence 2. a ghost_

**Chapter I: Namesake**

He was eight years old when he met his grandfather for the first time.

This in itself was not particularly unusual. The galaxy was large, and there were any number of circumstances that might keep a family apart for years. Perfectly normal little boys might meet their grandparents at the age of eight, or even older, for the first time.

But he was not a perfectly normal little boy. His mother was Leia Organa Solo, chief of state of the New Republic, and his father was Han Solo, former smuggler and general of the Rebel Alliance, and still widely regarded as a scoundrel of the first order. He had been named after his mother's father, who had died destroying the Emperor in the Battle of Endor, over twelve years ago now.

From a very young age, his name had set him apart. When other children were still learning their letters and chasing one another around in games of Rebels and Stormtroopers, he would beg his parents to take him to the great libraries of Coruscant, where he spent hours pouring over histories of the Old Republic and the Empire. His brother and sister regarded him as quite odd, and would generally leave him to his own devices while they went off to practice with their newfound Force abilities. But they would not hear of anyone teasing him, and they always defended him to their friends.

By the time he was six, he had already devoured all the information available in public libraries. When he asked his mother one day if she might take him to the old Jedi Archives, she simply threw her hands up in despair and, without a word, went to comm his uncle Luke.

His mother blamed herself for his interest in history, and even at six he noticed that his father seemed somewhat unnerved by it. They wondered if they should have given him his name, and he even heard them questioning Uncle Luke about it once. But he assured them, with the serious gaze of a child, that he quite liked his name, that he wasn't at all afraid of it, as his mother thought he might be. He knew she had given him his name as a show of forgiveness to her father, but he also knew, although she never spoke of it, that she still found it difficult to forgive him fully. And deep down, he thought, she was frightened of her father. He had sensed that when he was still very young, had heard the slight tremor in her voice when she told him about his name, and the barely concealed flash of anger when she had used that _other _name. He thought that maybe, in her heart, it was always that other name she used.

He used to constantly ask his Uncle Luke what had happened to him on the second Death Star, during the Battle of Endor, but a dark look always crossed his mother's face, and he could feel her anger, and underneath that, her fear. And so he stopped asking, because her reaction frightened him. But when he asked to see the Jedi Archives, she left the decision to her brother, and Uncle Luke took him.

In Uncle Luke he found a kindred spirit, someone with a thirst for knowledge of the past as great as his own, and especially with regards to that one particular subject that had haunted his imagination almost from the day of his birth. They spent hours together in the great library of the old Jedi temple, pouring over datachips and mission logs and any scrap of information that might contain that one frighteningly beautiful name. Uncle Luke sometimes got distracted, especially by records of Jedi Council proceedings and descriptions of training methods under the old Order, and his nephew let him run off, exploring a thousand tangents. He thought his uncle's mind was too nimble and quick, too much the mind of a pilot, to remain on one subject for long. But he had the mind of a mechanic, although his sister would have laughed to hear him say that. Breha would get frustrated with her projects, especially the few droids she had attempted, when they took too long to complete, or didn't come together as she'd expected. But he could spend hours working on just one small aspect of a project; he had once spent three whole days on a droid's eye, when he was five. And he came at his self-assigned research with the same single-minded purpose. Still, even he was distracted occasionally, usually by the sleek starship designs and lightsaber diagrams he found in some of the more technical books.

When he reached his eighth birthday, he had read all the Archives had to offer. Uncle Luke had even let him see a few highly classified documents from the days of the Empire, although his mother hadn't been pleased when she found out, and she had quickly put a stop to that.

Two years ago, Bail and Breha had each received their own speeder bikes for their eighth birthday, and everyone had assumed he would get one this year. His father had already picked the perfect model, and was only trying to decide between yellow and blue. He was excited about the speeder, and he secretly hoped it would be yellow. He already had several modifications in mind for it, and one of them would take some time. He knew it worried his mother, sometimes, when he worked on projects like that, but his father would just ruffle his hair and laugh and say, "That's my boy. He's a Solo through and through." And he would grin and agree with his father, but he always knew that his mother knew the truth.

One night, just three weeks before his birthday, Uncle Luke and Aunt Tamrin came over for dinner, and as they were talking, his uncle asked him what he might want for his birthday. He thought about this for some time, but it was more for show, to tease his brother and sister. They had been trying for weeks to learn what he was going to ask Uncle Luke for. Uncle Luke always made them ask for their presents, and it had become a game between them to try to guess what someone would ask for before they asked. But he had known for a while what he would ask for this year, and he knew they could never have guessed it. It was not the sort of present most soon-to-be-eight year old boys would ask for.

"Can I have a story for my birthday, Uncle Luke?" he asked.

He could feel his mother's unease, and he guessed she knew what story he would ask for. But for once, she didn't object. Uncle Luke looked puzzled, but he agreed.

And so he waited with growing impatience for his birthday. When it finally came, for a while he was distracted by his bright new yellow speeder bike. Breha swore it was faster than hers, and she pretended to pout, but then he let her have a ride, and showed her how the throttle could be adjusted just so on her own bike, and then she was grinning and waiting impatiently for the festivities to be over, so she could go and tinker.

After dinner, Uncle Luke said it was time for the story, and he said he wanted everyone to hear it. His mother frowned, but she would not refuse him, he knew, because it was his birthday. So they all sat down in the family room, Uncle Luke in the old plush chair with little Ben in his lap and Aunt Tamrin beside him, and the three Solo children clustered on the floor around them. Their parents sat on the couch behind them, their hands clasped tightly together. Uncle Luke smiled at him and said, "What story do you want to hear, Ani?"

Everyone had always called him Ani, for as long as he could remember. Uncle Luke told him once that his grandfather had visited him on the day he was born, and that he had suggested the nickname. He had asked his mother if that were true, and she said it was. But she wouldn't say anything more about it, and so he stopped asking. In any case he didn't remember that, and so it didn't really count.

"I want to hear what happened to you in the Battle of Endor, Uncle Luke, while you were on the Death Star," he said, and reached up to squeeze his mother's hand in reassurance. He was glad when he felt her relax slightly and squeeze his hand in return.

Uncle Luke grew quiet, and his face took on a far away, almost sad look. It was a look he often wore while meditating. Beside him, Aunt Tamrin's eyes were warm and sad. For several minutes, no one said anything, and then Uncle Luke began to speak. His voice was soft and strangely gentle for such a dark story. Though his sister was tensed like a vibrating string ready to snap, he seemed peaceful, as though he were recounting a painful but ultimately good memory. That gave his nephew hope.

It was a long story, and there were frequent pauses: sometimes when his mother grew infuriated at the actions of her father, and sometimes when Uncle Luke was too lost in memory, or maybe too moved by it, to continue. His mother had never heard the full story; when Uncle Luke had tried to tell her, she grew agitated and never let him finish. But tonight she would—he could sense that.

It was well past midnight when Uncle Luke finished his story, but no one seemed to notice. They were all crying, even his father. Even his mother. She seemed more peaceful than he could remember her in a long time, and that night, as she gave him a kiss before bed, she thanked him, but he couldn't imagine what for. Then she smiled, and wished him a happy birthday, and closed the door quietly behind her.

His room was at the end of the hall, just past Bail and Breha's room and the fresher. It wasn't large, by most standards, but he had chosen it over the larger guest room because of the view. His window looked out westward over the vast cityscape of Coruscant, taking in streaming lines of traffic, bustling cantinas, Senate apartments, and the old Jedi temple in its gaze. At twilight, it afforded some of the most spectacular sunsets the planet had to offer, and on good nights he could even glimpse a few stars twinkling through Coruscant's haze.

There were no stars tonight, but his room was a good deal brighter than he had ever seen it. A pale blue glow seemed to emanate from the far corner of the room. He stretched out with the Force—something felt strange, different, but not at all threatening. It was almost comforting, though he had not been aware till that moment that he had any need for comfort. But whatever it made him feel, he was certain of one thing: it was definitely a presence.

"Who's there?" he said, rather more quietly than he had intended. But he was surprised to note that his voice did not even sound surprised, let alone frightened. Instead, he felt a strange sense of anticipation. Something was going to happen tonight, something important, he just knew it. "Come out so I can see you."

"You won't be afraid of me?" asked a voice, its tones gentle and almost sad. "But no," the voice added, "you at least have never been afraid of me." There was a definite note of sorrow in that last statement.

He was terribly curious now, and also there was a strange thrilling sense of certainty boiling up in the back of his mind, so he said, still quietly, "No, I won't be afraid of you."

A figure seemed to melt out of the shadows, and then there was a man standing there in the center of his room, radiating a faint light. For a moment, he would have sworn it was Uncle Luke. But no, Uncle Luke had never been that tall. And he was certain Uncle Luke had never worn his hair so long.

He studied the man for quite a while, neither of them speaking. It was the eyes that held him. The man's eyes were blue, like Uncle Luke's, but they held an infinite depth of sadness, like deep wells of memory, both beautiful and broken. He remembered his mother telling him once that sometimes the sad things were the most beautiful, and looking into this man's eyes he finally understood what she had meant.

There was love in those eyes, too, of a profound sort he had glimpsed only a few times in his life: a selfless, giving sort of love. It was a love that would gladly die to save the one it loved. A love that _had _died to save the one it loved.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper. But he already knew the answer. He had always known the answer.

"I'm Anakin Skywalker," the figure said with a shy, apologetic smile. "I'm your grandfather."

* * *

All his life, he had dreamed of meeting his grandfather. He could never have said why; certainly his parents would not have encouraged such a desire. His brother and sister had always thought it very strange: he remembered that once, when he was five, Bail had asked him why anyone would want to meet Darth Vader. He had looked at his brother very seriously, and replied that he didn't want to meet Vader at all, he wanted to meet his grandfather.

And yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, when he thought of his grandfather, it had always been that imposing black armor and grim death-mask that he'd pictured, even after seeing all the Temple holos. And now, his grandfather was standing here, in his room, gleaming softly and looking at him with sad blue eyes. He had so many questions he didn't know where to begin.

There was so much he could know now! The things he'd always wondered about, little bits of history that were recorded nowhere, and now he had an eye witness, and one of the chief players, here in his room. He looked up excitedly, a thousand questions forming on his lips—only to die away as he caught sight of the deep sorrow shining in his grandfather's eyes. His questions could wait. Right now, healing was needed, and he thought he knew a way to achieve that.

"Can I call you granddad?" he asked.

The shock on the spirit's face would have been comical, if not for the intense look of anguish that flashed through his eyes. For a moment, his grandson caught a glimpse of a brilliant green meadow, twirling skirts and laughing brown eyes, and the gentle smile of a baby. Then the baby was a young girl, and she smiled up at someone he couldn't see. The girl seemed familiar, but before he could determine why, the vision faded, leaving him with the feeling that whole lifetimes had slipped through his fingers, and only the echo of soaring love and endless regret remained. He found to his surprise that he was crying, although he could not have said why.

His grandfather was smiling sadly at him. "Yes," the spirit said, in a voice much softer than he would have expected. "I would like that."


	3. Chapter II: A Piece of the Sky

Note: For everyone who thought this story was incomplete as a one-shot. :) You convinced me. I hope you'll enjoy this little offering. And, although this story is truly finished now, there will be a sequel of sorts, "Talmar's Song," as soon as I get some time to write... Thanks to those who have encouraged me to continue with this, and, as always, reviews are greatly appreciated!

Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine. :)

**Chapter II: A Piece of the Sky**

"Granddad? Is it true that you're the best star-pilot in the galaxy?"

"What?" The surprise in the spirit's voice could not quite manage to disguise the pride shining in his eyes, and his grandson knew he had hit on something vital. "Who told you that?"

"Uncle Luke said that Master Kenobi told him that, a long time ago," he replied, trying but failing to keep a smug grin from showing on his face. He knew that this bit of news could not fail to please his grandfather.

"Did he?" the spirit asked, cocking a brow. Though his face was softened by a fond smile, there was a mischievous glint in his eye that lent him a certain comically dangerous look, like a small child preparing a prank. It was a side of his grandfather the boy had never expected to see, and it left him feeling both warm and a little sad. He wished his grandfather could be with them like this all the time.

"So, is it true?" he asked eagerly, pushing away his melancholy thoughts.

"Well, I don't know. Your Uncle Luke is quite a good pilot himself," his grandfather said, with a definite note of parental pride. "And your father is one of the best." This last was said without the slightest hint of sarcasm or even competitive feeling. For reasons he did not entirely understand, his grandfather seemed to think very highly of his father, and even spoke fondly of him. The spirit had told him once that Han reminded him of all that was right about himself in his younger days. The boy had promised to pass those words on to his father, some day—he could only hope his father would take them as the compliment he thought they were.

"But Uncle Luke said you were _the _best," he pressed, refusing to let himself be deterred from the matter at hand. He had a plan, if only his grandfather would stop trying to distract him.

The spirit snorted. "While I'm certainly flattered, your Uncle Luke has never even seen me fly. Except…" he paused, and then trailed off entirely, his face darkened with memory and the weight of endless regret. "Well, there was once. But Vader never did fly as well as Anakin…"

His grandson didn't know what to say to that, so, without really thinking about what he was doing, he simply reached out to squeeze his grandfather's arm in reassurance.

To his great surprise, his hand did not pass through the spirit's arm. Instead, he met with something warm and solid and unquestionably _alive_—more alive than anything else he had ever felt. The feeling was breathtaking and wild and perfectly simple, almost like coming into contact with pure energy, and it sent a tingling sensation all through his body. He realized with a start that it was most like the way the Force felt when he touched it with his mind.

His grandfather was looking at him with blue eyes so full of gratitude, he thought he might weep. But he restrained himself with some effort and focused on his object. He had inherited his mother's knack for knowing the right moment, and was certain that this was the perfect time to make his request.

"Granddad?" he asked, as gently as he could in his excitement, "Will you go flying with me?"

The spirit stared at him for a long time without speaking, but he could see the longing in those sad blue eyes. He knew what he had offered, and it was far more than a simple flight through the traffic lanes of Coruscant in the early hours of the morning. He was offering his grandfather a chance to fly with him as he never had with his own children, to share stories and jokes and all the special tricks of piloting that made Anakin Skywalker the very best. He was offering a chance to teach, and to learn, and to simply _be _as a family. And he knew that, no matter how much it might cost him, this was something his grandfather could never refuse.

"Well, squirt," the spirit managed at last, "I don't know. I don't think your parents would like you taking off across Coruscant at this hour…"

It was a weak argument at best, made weaker by the hesitant longing evident in his grandfather's voice, and they both knew it. The boy grinned—it was only a matter of time now before the spirit gave in.

"Actually," he said slowly, "they don't have to know."

That was a mistake. His grandfather turned to face him instantly and looked at him very intently, and he noticed something old and deeply sorrowful in the spirit's eyes. "No," his grandfather said, gently but very firmly. "I will not keep secrets from your mother."

He was a little startled by the resolve of the spirit's reply. He had never made a habit of lying to his parents, of course, and he avoided it whenever possible, but like most children, he did not often hesitate to tell a little, innocent lie if it might save him from getting into trouble. And besides, withholding the truth was not exactly lying. Was it?

"You don't like secrets, do you, Granddad?" he asked, very softly.

The spirit sighed deeply and gave him a sad half smile. "It's never a good idea to keep secrets from the ones you love, Ani," he said gently. "And if you keep too many secrets, you may find that you lose yourself in them, and become the lie you've created…"

The boy didn't think the matter of not telling his parents about a late night flight across Coruscant was really a cause for such great concern, but he also understood that his grandfather was now talking about something that vastly transcended his own limited experience. The spirit's words had that tragically beautiful ring to them which he had come to associate with hard-earned truth. It was a note he often heard in Uncle Luke's voice, and sometimes in his mother's or his father's.

"All right," he said quietly. "We won't keep secrets then. But we can still go flying, right? I'll tell Mom and Dad in the morning, I promise." He was coming perilously close to whining now, but he didn't care. This was his dream, and it was his birthday. Surely his grandfather could understand that.

"Well, I…" When the spirit seemed to hesitate, the boy favored him with his most innocently pleading look, the one that never failed to work on his mother, even though she was perfectly aware it was an act. His grandfather never stood a chance. "Oh, blast you," the spirit muttered, but he was grinning like a child himself. "Fine. We'll go flying. But let's at least try not to wake the whole house…"

"Yippee!" the boy shouted and dashed for the door. He was so excited that he never noticed the bittersweet look of mingled joy and regret shining on his grandfather's face.

* * *

"Left, left! No, don't, not the—! Center switch, center switch!"

"Relax, Granddad!" he said, sending the spirit a cocky grin. "I'm not _that _bad!"

They had been out for barely half an hour, and he had been so excited to show his grandfather his skills as a pilot that he'd taken them right into the thickest lanes of Coruscant traffic. True, it was well past midnight, and there was far less traffic now than would have been the case during the "rush hours" of daylight. But Coruscant was never still, and he suspected his grandfather thought it far too crowded for their little outing even now.

He smirked, and pressed the throttle for all it was worth.

"Ani!" His grandfather sounded truly distressed now. "I think you should slow down!"

He eased back on the throttle, just a little, and favored the spirit with a level, somewhat disdainful look. "Don't you like flying, Granddad?" he asked innocently.

A look of absolute, unmitigated horror crossed the spirit's face, and he slapped a hand to his brow in seeming despair. "Blast!" his grandson heard him mutter, quite distinctly. "I'm turning into Obi-Wan!"

* * *

"See Granddad? Once you calmed down, it wasn't that bad at all. I'm a good pilot."

His grandfather chuckled and reached over to ruffle his hair. It was a gesture that, over the last two hours, he had quickly become accustomed to, and he quietly reveled in the spirit's seemingly casual shows of grandfatherly affection.

"Yes, you are quite a good pilot," the spirit said warmly. "Probably better than I was at your age. But I'm afraid I haven't been out flying like this in a very long time, and it just took a while to get used to it again."

He turned slightly in the pilot's seat of the speeder and flashed his grandfather a brilliant grin. "It's good to be back, isn't it, Granddad?"

"Yes, it is," said the spirit softly. "You have no idea how good it is…"

"So," he asked casually, purposely not looking at his grandfather's face, "do you want to fly us home?"

"You'd trust a ghost with your family's speeder?" his grandfather joked. But he was not quite able to disguise the eagerness in his voice.

Now his grandson did look at him. "Yes," the boy said softly. "I trust you, Granddad."

"I…" the spirit began, but he could find no words. The pure, unassuming gratitude in his eyes was heart-breaking. "Yes," he said at last, so softly that his grandson almost did not hear him, "I would like to fly us home."

So the boy pulled over for a moment to allow them to switch places. He had been a little uncertain about this, but his grandfather seemed to be able to touch him, and the speeder shouldn't be any different. So he set aside the last whispers of doubt and settled back comfortably in the cushioned seat, trying to contain his excitement.

* * *

He had never dreamed that a feeling of such total freedom was possible. The closest he had ever come to such wonder was when he himself was flying. Occasionally, his father would let him pilot the family speeder, and he was left with a sense of warmth, of ability, and of a centered oneness within himself and in the Force which he found in no other way. He took every opportunity he could find to fly, regardless of the craft.

None of that compared to flying with his grandfather. He had decided, after only a few moments as the spirit's passenger, that his Uncle Luke had been right: his grandfather was unquestionably the greatest pilot who had ever lived. It wasn't so much a matter of flashy maneuvers or daring, unusual tricks—although he did convince his grandfather to demonstrate some of those and was suitably awed by them. But the greatness of his grandfather's piloting was in the _feeling _of him at the controls. He was absolutely in tune with his craft, and under his direction the speeder became not just a vehicle or even a simple extension of his will, but a living manifestation of his desire for freedom and his love of flight. His passenger was swept away into a vibrant, living world untouched by limitation or the corruption of power. He simply _was_, at one with the Force and with every being in the galaxy, and at the same time able to transcend and thereby join them all.

And then it ended. He was almost surprised to find that they were back home, the speeder parked exactly where it had been before their little outing, and someone was calling his name.

His Uncle Luke came into their little hangar almost at a run, closely followed by his mother and father. They all looked quite worried, and he cringed, knowing that he had frightened them by his selfish actions. Perhaps his grandfather had been more right about secrets than he had at first thought…

His mother was frantic, and she came running towards him, eager to scold and to comfort all at once. But she stopped quite suddenly when she caught sight of her father. The spirit offered her a sad, apologetic grin, but her expression did not change.

His Uncle Luke, however, went from surprised to a cool sort of calm, as close as he ever came to anger. His father, who could not see the spirit, nevertheless seemed to know instinctively from the reactions of his wife and brother-in-law that something here was out of place, and it probably had to do with their "Jedi nonsense," as he called it.

"Father," said his Uncle Luke finally, in a quiet, almost reserved voice, "I think you had better explain this."

Before the spirit could respond, however, his grandson stepped forward, nervous but determined to take the responsibility himself. He wasn't about to let his grandfather take the blame for something that had been his idea. "It's my fault, Uncle Luke," he said in a very small voice that echoed strangely in the too-quiet hangar. "I asked Granddad to go flying with me…"

Beside him, the spirit's hands fiddled nervously with the edges of his sleeves, but his gaze was fixed steadily on his son's. His voice, when he spoke, was profoundly gentle, and he seemed to communicate with his son in a way that none of the others could quite understand.

"I know I probably should have refused him," the spirit said softly, and his voice, though somewhat louder than his grandson's had been, did not echo. "But I…" He trailed off, uncertain, and instead let his eyes speak for him.

His grandson watched his Uncle Luke's face soften and noticed the spirit's sad smile, saw the way a shared memory hung suspended as unshed tears in two pairs of brilliant blue eyes, both marked by wisdom and regret—and he knew that these two understood each other as no one else ever could. Uncle Luke could never truly be angry with his father. They had saved one another, and that bond was too deep for anger.

"You wanted to spend time with your grandson," a soft voice said, interrupting the boy's thoughts. To his great surprise, it was his mother speaking, and she was gazing at her father with compassion and perhaps, he thought, even with tenderness. He glanced at his grandfather, and saw that he seemed to have been struck completely speechless by his daughter's unexpected words. But his eyes betrayed a sharp longing and an almost desperate hope.

His mother looked at him and smiled. "And Ani has always wanted to know his grandfather," she said gently. "I'm glad you gave him that chance."

"Thank you," the spirit whispered, a reply to words unspoken, but no less real. The ageless sorrow in his eyes had not diminished, but there was something else there now, a kind of warmth and a deep, abiding joy that was not lessened by the touch of regret. His grandson thought that he had never seen anything quite so beautiful as those blue eyes, reflected in the warmth of his mother's own brown eyes.

On an impulse, the boy reached for his grandfather's hand with his right, then stepped forward and took his mother's hand in his left. She looked at him in surprise, and his grandfather seemed a bit apprehensive, but neither pulled away.

Without a word, he placed his mother's small hand in his grandfather's much larger one, then stepped back, smiling hopefully. His mother eyed him curiously, and at last seemed to understand. She grasped the spirit's hand a bit more firmly and whispered a soft, "Thank you, Father. For Endor, and for Luke." She swallowed thickly, then added, so softly that almost her son did not hear, "And for Ani."

His grandfather said nothing at all, but his tears were warm, and they left healing in their wake.

The boy smiled brightly up at them both, and he saw that his Uncle Luke and even his father were doing the same. "Granddad," he said with a grin, "I think this has been the best birthday ever."


End file.
